The Trottingham Reports: A Slender Escape
by flutterdash1
Summary: Doctor Trotson has been assigned to observe Sherlock Hooves and his activities in Trottingham


For record keeping purposes; this is my first official report of significance on the activities of Sherlock Hooves.

For record keeping purposes; this report begins with the assignment as given by the former Minister of the Night

It was one hundred and seventy-four days after my injury, obtained during the Invasion of the Rising Sun Empire, when I was summoned to the office of the Minister of the Night. The black unicorn, Moon Trot, was busy attending papers when I took my seat in the only empty chair in her office.

"A moment," she said. I nodded my head silently and waited. The wound I received to my left hind leg had rendered me immobile for weeks and I was still hospitalized when the war had ended. I was given an honorable discharge when it became apparent that my condition would not allow me to continue my military career, and for the month or so between then and the summons I had been living on my savings. Whatever work the Minister had for me, I could wait in a chair for a few minutes to listen to the offer.

Almost an hour had passed before the last of the black mare's aids left the room and there was a noticeably smaller pile of papers remaining on the desk. She used her magic to fix a burnt-orange hairband that I had not noticed due to how untamed her dark purple mane had become. Once she was ready she fixed her teal eyes upon me and nodded.

Clearing my throat first, a nasty habit I picked up during my two year stay in Los Pegasus, I voiced my question. "You summoned me?" Of course she had, but protocols were protocols.

"Indeed." Moon Trot said, "I have a new assignment for you, provided your injury has not rendered your completely immobile." She glanced towards my leg which, to all appearances, had not a thing wrong with it. Unfortunately when it comes to anatomy appearances can be deceiving. I should know, for I am a doctor.

"The injury itself has healed, madam," I attested, "However, nerve damage has induced a chronic pain that requires medication of the sort that, while rendering me capable of daily functionality, makes it impossible for me to be a practicing doctor." No patient would want a doctor who was constantly in pain or constantly taking pain medication, and I for one would not trust myself to be a doctor under either of those conditions. "As far as mobility is concerned, I am quite capable of getting about."

"Good." Moon Trot said, "Your service records are impeccable, and your recent discharge is most unfortunate for you. However, it has provided an opportunity as well. There is an individual living in Trottingham whom I am most concerned with, and I would like for you to act as my eyes and ears on the scene."

"You wish for me to be a spy?" I asked, having no prior experience in the field and thus rather surprised by the possibility.

"Not at all." Moon Trot said, "I only want you to keep an eye on him. Tell me of his activities."

"That does sound an awful lot like spy work."

"Espionage," Moon Trot said, "Implies a level of separation from the target. Anonymity and discretion. You are free to tell the pony anything you wish, though it would likely be best for your job if you do not mention me. There is some animosity between the two of us. Nothing to warrant concern over."

"But enough that you want someone to keep an eye on him." I countered.

Moon Trot smiled slightly, "You are an astute pony, Dr. Trotson. This is one of the reasons I chose you for the assignment."

"It goes without saying that I will accept whatever assignment the Minister of the Night wishes to task me with," I said, "But I would like to know more about the pony. So far all I know is that he lives in Trottingham. Am I simply to go there, find him from a picture or ask around with a name?"

"Not at all," Moon Trot said. Her horn glowed with a purple aura, just a few shades lighter than her mane, and a file moved on the table to turn towards me. A black and white image of a pony wearing a Deerstalker hat was paper-clipped to the top-right corner of a text filled document. I stood from my chair and looked over the paper.

"Sherlock Hooves," I said, reading over the scant information available, "Consultant Detective?" I asked after having read his profession.

"He is fond of solving mysteries." Moon Trot said, verbally rolling her eyes even if her actual eyes remained still, "He sometimes works with the Trottingham police when they have a particularly difficult case, or when he's bored. Often he will hire himself out to private interests."

"Does he make good business?" I asked.

"I wouldn't know," Moon Trot said, "But his name frequently appears in reports from Trottingham, which is what brought him to my attention in the first place."

"Very well," I said, reading over the document again, "So am I to pose as a private interest seeking his assistance?"

"Nope," Moon Trot said, "You're going to answer a Want Ad he placed in the Trottingham paper." She then brought a clipping from a newspaper out of a different folder and magically levitated it to me. It read as follows.

_Wanted: Roommate_

_Duties Expected to Complete:_

_-Basic cleaning of apartment_

_-Timely payment of approximately 50% the total rent_

_ Preferred non-requirements:_

_-Cooking skills_

_-Intellectual_

_-Quiet_

_See:_

_Sherlock Hooves_

_221 apartment "b"_

_Baker Street_

_Trottingham, Equestria_

"You wish for me to become his roommate?" I asked.

"Exactly." Moon Trot said, "A discharged military doctor with a disability preventing him from practicing medicine or war seeking a low-cost living accommodation is more than the perfect cover, its the truth, is it not?"

I had to nod my head to admit that it was the truth. I had been seeking new living accommodations for a pair of weeks prior to this meeting as living in Canterlot was expensive and my savings were drying up fast.

"If he inquires about your income, tell him it is your military pension. Extended for bravery and valor under duress. It is enough of a truth, as those qualities were also a reason I selected you for this assignment."

I bowed my head respectfully. "I am honored, Minister."

A train ticket landed on the desk in front of me. I picked it up in my teeth as she went back to looking over papers. "Your train leaves in two hours," She said without looking up, "I suggest packing and preparing for your journey."

I left her office and, soon, the palace entirely. My journey across the city to my current dwelling was expedited courtesy of two royal Pegasai who offered me the use of their chariot. I'm certain it was at the behest of the Minister of the Night but I was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Truth be told, the more I had to walk the more pain I felt in my leg, so an opportunity for a free ride appealed to me.

The process of packing my belongings was a swift one as I am a pony of bare needs. Most of my possessions fit in a single set of over sized saddle bags, and the rest I was able to have carried by a Zebra by the name of Jelani whom had taken up residence in the apartment across the hall from mine the week before.

He loaded everything for me onto the baggage cart of the train and bid me farewell and good luck on my adventure. I thanked him and assured him it was not the style of adventure he was used to for he had traveled great distances and seen many perils.

"All life is an adventure" he said with a laugh before departing. I boarded the train within the quarter-hour and relaxed into my private room. The engineer aboard notified me that the trip would take a little over a day, making one stop in Ponyville noon the next day. I thanked him before settling down to read a paperback of Daring Do's autobiography.

The low moan of the train's whistle woke me from my sleep. I could see that the sun had risen high in the sky and realized I had slept in. Not that it terribly mattered at the moment since I could hardly be accused of over-sleeping when the arrival at my destination was determined entirely by the train. The stop in Ponyville had been brief and only a yellow mare with a bright red mane had boarded- or, at least, had passed my cabin- and we had left within the hour. Now the train was coming into Trottingham Station and I was more than ready to leave it. I had nothing against confined spaces- I actually find them quite comfortable at times- but I prefer to have a solid residence to call my own and technically, at the time, I was homeless.

The stationmaster allowed me to store my belongings at the train station while I sought an apartment. I assured him that I had a place in mind already and it was merely a matter of going there and signing the papers. I asked him which way Baker Street was and he pointed north, telling me it was approximately two miles in that direction.

I set out at once, though quickly hired a taxi when I decided it would be far easier on my leg and on my spirit. The pony pulling me along knew exactly where I was talking about and even questioned me on my business with Mr. Hooves. When I informed him of my intention to take up the offered position as his room mate the stallion chuckled and gave me his best wishes. Just as I began to inquire why I would be needing them we arrived. I asked the cabby to wait for me for a short while while I ascertained whether or not I would be dwelling here, but he stubbornly shook his head and said that he had fares to collect to make a quota. After paying what I owed him, I watched the cabby gallop off down the street.

I sighed and then entered 221 Baker Street. Within the front door was another door and a stairway. The inner door had the letter "a" inscribed in bronze in the center of its green varnished surface, and a bronze "b" was emblazoned on a matching green sign hanging from the pale tan wall by the stairs. There was a pencil sketch of an arrow pointing up the stairs as though to assist those who could not have figured such a trivial matter out on their own.

I took the stairs up to the second landing and not two feet from me was another door, identical to the one on the floor below me, but with the bronze "b" upon it again. I paused for a moment, looking about to see if there happened to be any other apartments, but there was not a hall or spare door in sight. A two room apartment building was a new concept to me, but Trottingham was an older city and this might merely have been a renovation of a more normal dwelling once upon a time. I lifted my hoof to knock on the door but a clipped voice from inside called "Its open!" before I had made contact with the door. I blinked in surprise but reached for the doorknob anyways.

The inside of the apartment was many times more interesting than anything I had ever seen in my life. Maybe 'interesting' is too broad a term. Intriguing might be more accurate. The sheer amount of objects crammed almost haphazardly into the room staggered me a little, but when the variety of the mess became apparent I was even more astounded. Artifacts and tools of foreign design littered every surface. Books, scrolls, parchment and other documents were crammed in, under, over and around the odd nick-nacks like mortar between bricks.

There was furniture somewhere in the mess, but I was not able to pick it out at first glance. It wasn't until a dark tan stallion emerged from between two haphazard stacks of books and looked at me with perhaps the most intelligent and speculative brown eyes I had ever beheld.

He looked me up and down with one sweep of his eyes before vanishing behind the books again. "Your room is the third door on the north wall." his voice said, traveling over the stacks of debris. "Once you are moved in you can begin cleaning the place up."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked once the rudeness of his words sank in.

"You're here for the apartment. You learned about my Want Ad from the paper. You would make an excellent roommate and so the place is yours." the stallion said. "One of the requirements was that you clean the apartment. Once you get yourself settled in, I suggest you get to it."

"How do you know I am here for the room?" I asked. Despite the truth behind the accusation, it was more than a little assumptive of him to make such an allegation.

"You just got off the train from Canterlot where upon you took a cab directly to this address as evidenced by your arrival shortly after the arrival and departure of a cab outside- Galloping Gary, to be specific- that I could hear from in here, and shortly after the arrival of the train which has never been more than fifteen minutes late with the exception of extreme circumstance. The only train scheduled to arrive at anytime this afternoon was the one from Canterlot with a brief stop over in Ponyville. Your accent pinpoints you as a native of Manehattan though you have some Los Pegasian habits and a gait obtained by walking on the well cared for streets of Canterlot. Your haunches are sturdier than the normal traveler and you have calcium build up around your hooves, caused from a lot of running and the excess nutrients pumped into military food rations. Your red cross cutie mark indicates your medical specialty. All of this tells me that you were at one point a medic in the Royal Guard and did a great deal of traveling.

"The limp in your hind leg is suggestive of a long-healed injury but a mentally-induced chronic pain syndrome prevents you from overcoming your disability. A doctor cannot be in constant pain nor can he be medicated on duty so you were more likely than not discharged. I would presume an honorable discharge given the likelihood of your injury occurring in battle and the way you carry yourself. A recently discharged soldier who had spent a number of years traveling abroad would have little in the way of belonging and a homestead and the only reasons any pony travel from Canterlot to Trottingham is to save money. Given that you came directly to me first thing after disembarking the train, minus a slight delay where you found a place to temporarily store your baggage in the event that you were not given the residence, which you were. Rent is due by first of each month by the way. That gives you two weeks to settle your affairs and have the first payment ready."

I was stunned. Completely speechless. How had Sherlock known so much about me? Everything was explained but for the end part about the luggage. I could not resist the need to know how he had surmised everything in such detail.

"How did you know I had to relocate my luggage from the train? I might just have been visiting this city exclusively to find you."

"You are here to find me," he said, still invisible on the far side of his materiel, "I know you relocated your luggage by the faint bruising on either side of your lower lip; bruising caused by a heavy loose-handled bag. The loose handle is pulled down by the weight of the bag and pinches the bearer's lips against their gums. You arrived here without luggage, obvious by the speedy departure of Gary, unless the heavy bag was your only luggage, in which case you would have brought it up with you rather than leave it on the street. If you had only come to see me for my services, you would have no need for heavy luggage that was worth keeping safe at the train station in case of me rejecting you."

"Astounding..." I thought aloud.

"Not at all," he said, "Anypony can deduce such trivial data, but few ever pay attention to what they see, and most outright refuse to put any reason to their attempts at deductions."

"Well, I consider myself a fairly intelligent and observational pony," I said.

"As you should, you were a doctor at one point."

"Yes," I said, not fond of being interrupted, nor my former career being addressed thus, "As I was saying, despite that I do not think that I could match your gift at observation."

"My gift is _not_ observation," the stallion said, stepping out from behind his books and looking quite miffed, "My gift is in putting the pieces of the puzzle together. The act of observing the pieces can be done by _anypony_ given sufficient practice."

"Well I suppose I shall have to take your word for it," I said, growing weary of this conversation. He seemed to have no rebuttal to that and vanished behind his books quietly. I went to examine my room, afraid to find it full of his clutter as well, but quite pleased when it was as barren as one might expect. Only a bed and a rug were in the room, but judging from the amount of dust it was clear that my new roommate hadn't bothered to clean it while it was unused.

I was on my way out into the stairwell when he returned to me.

"I suppose introductions should be held at least once," he said, extending a hoof in a rather awkward and hesitant manner. I extended mine and we shook hooves. "Sherlock Hooves," he said.

"Doctor Trotson," Said I. And on that we parted; I descended the stairs to return to the train station for my belongings and Sherlock vanished once more.

I was in residence for just short of a week when the police arrived. I was only a little surprised when there was a loud knocking at the door and the barking voice of an inspector asking to be let in. I was surprised that he sounded more worried and impatient than angry, which was not something I would expect from an officer of the law pounding on someone's door.

I set the book down that I was shelving to go and let the inspector in. I had my own items placed properly within the first day of my moving in. After resting for the evening, I began my first full day as Sherlock Hooves's roommate. Despite his urging, I was going to clean the apartment anyway. How he could live in such chaos was beyond me. Whenever I asked him where something belonged, he always would claim that it was in its proper place. After I grew frustrated I asked if everything was in its proper place then how was I to clean? He responded with "You are to find the _new_ proper place."

While I cleaned our shared living space he was quite busy with a wide variety of experiments and practices which I had thought would surely call the attention of the police sooner rather than later. Small explosives, incendiaries, toxins, poisons, exotic wildlife of both the plant and animal variety, and even more than one cadaver passed in and out of 221b more often than would be believable. At the time of the inspector's visit, Sherlock was in the process of playing a violin. Quite poorly, for my tastes at least.

As I opened the door I was surprised to hear the random strained chords of Sherlock's musical style switch to a classical tone that I quite recognized. It was a short burst of music from Beethooven's third symphony, and it was played with expert precision.

Opposite me, across the threshold to the apartment, was a lime green unicorn with sapphire and turquoise hair. He looked at me with surprise, obviously expecting Sherlock to be the one answering the door.

"Oh, beg pardon," he said, "I'm here to see Mr. Hooves."

"Come in LeStride," Sherlock said while placing his violin haphazardly at the edge of a table. I considered letting it fall and break, but that would result in a larger mess for me to deal with later, so I promptly moved it back to its holder atop the mantle on the western wall of the apartment. LeStride entered after I went for the violin and had started pacing back and forth across the carpet while Sherlock sat on a chair and seemed to wait patiently.

"What is the problem, Inspector?" I asked after a few quiet seconds.

"Hm?" the lime unicorn said, looking at me. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry but this is rather confidential-"

"Don't mind Trotson," Sherlock said, "He's my new assistant. Former medic of the Royal Army, honorable discharge. He's more than trustworthy."

I had to try not to gape at Sherlock for that statement. On the one hand, he portrayed me in a very positive light but on the other he claimed that I was his assistant. Before I could argue the point, LeStride spoke.

"Ah, well," giving me an almost piteous look, "Good luck with that." He turned his attention back to Sherlock and asked "Are you familiar with Slenderpony?"

"Not on a first name basis," Sherlock said, "But I'm as familiar with it as I am with Bighoof and the Lochness Seamare."

"Well, there have been recent sightings of Slenderpony here, in Trottingham." LeStride said.

"I'm aware," Sherlock cut him off, "Thirty-seven sightings spread among twenty-two ponies over the last four months. I read the papers."

"Yes," LeStride said, rolling his eyes, his nostrils flared with irritation. He had a resigned poise to him, however, and I could tell that he was used to Sherlock's manner even if not fond of it. "There's been a complication-"

"Of course there has," Sherlock cut-in again, "Why else would the police be coming to me to investigate random sightings by over imaginative ponies."

"This time, it wasn't just a sighting," LeStride said, "It was a murder."

I arrived with Sherlock and Inspector LeStride at the scene of the crime. Initially I had not intended to come along and thought that if Sherlock left I would be able to clean the apartment more efficiently. As my companion donned the deerstalker cap that I had seen in his photograph as well as a short brown plaid cloak that covers his shoulders, he looked to me and asked "Coming Trotson?" Before I could consider it, I nodded my head and grabbed my bowler. I don't know why I wanted to go as death is a repellent to me, but something was compelling me.

The victim was a white unicorn. He was laying between two bushes off the side of the main road. It was a wonder that there was only one witness to the murder given its location, though I have to admit that I do not know the normal times of day that traffic could be expected through which parts of Trottingham at that time.

"Tell me," I heard Sherlock begin to speak. He was talking to the young colt who had been witness to the event. Unfortunately for the boy, Sherlock seemed to have no pity for him in this traumatic experience. "What exactly did you see?"

"I...I..." The boy was barely able to speak.

"Sherlock," I said, when I was close enough to speak softly, "His father was just killed before his eyes. Now is not the best-"

"Now is the _perfect_ time," Sherlock said, "His memory is fresh! Trauma doesn't smear memory it _enhances_ it." He turned his attention back to the boy but the young unicorn had been led away by one of the officer ponies who was not overly fond of Sherlock Hooves. I was beginning to find that not everyone seemed to be as willing to work with him as Inspector LeStride, but as the Inspector was in charge of the investigation the others had less than a choice in the matter.

"Oh bother," Sherlock said with a sigh, "Oh well, I believe I've discerned enough to get us a lead."

"How?" I asked, "The boy only said two words to you."

"Not from the boy," Sherlock said. "The body, the ground, the bushes, that window across the street," he nodded his head in the direction of the nearest building. I looked from the ground to the punctured corpse to the shrubbery and to the building but saw nothing odd aside from the dead unicorn.

"My apologies Trotson," Sherlock said, "You aren't as up to speed as I am on the case. As you heard me say to LeStride back in the apartment, there have been thirty-seven sightings of Slenderpony in the last four months. All thirty-seven sightings have been by a total of twenty-two ponies. More sightings than seers makes it obvious that some of the seers were present at many sightings. Specifically, only seven ponies stand out, each of them having over five sightings each with varying numbers of friends with them one or another. Most interesting of all, of the twenty-two ponies to see Slenderpony, only three were unicorns. Five if we include the poor fellow and his son. The pony who lays dead near us is the only adult unicorn to have seen Slenderpony, however, and he is also the first one to die."

"Are you suggesting that his being a unicorn has something to do with his murder?" I asked.

"Of course!" Sherlock said, a wild look in his eyes. "Unicorns are unique in their magical abilities!"

"Indeed." I said, unimpressed with _that_ observation.

"Young unicorns haven't the talent to unravel an illusion spell," he continued.

"How, pray tell, do you know it was an illusion?" I asked.

"Inspector!" Sherlock called. The lime unicorn had been over by the dead body and looked to him. "I shall need a map of Trottingham and the surrounding countryside. Not much, within a mile or two of the city limits should suffice."

"Sherlock," I said, trying to get his attention again.

"The window!" Sherlock said, "While I was talking to the boy- and even before I was talking to him- he continued to glance at the window with a frightened expression. I glanced myself when he did but saw nothing. Then I realized he was not looking at the window, but at the space in front of it." He walked over to the building in question and I followed. He stopped at the edge of the road, a pace away from the window.

"Do you see?" He asked, his hoof gesturing at the ground. Between us and the window was a stretch of muddy grass. Rain the day before was likely the cause of the mud.

"I'm afraid I do not," I admitted.

"Exactly Trotson!" Sherlock said with excitement. "If Slenderpony had been standing here, there would he hoofprints in the mud!"

"What if Slenderpony was not standing here?" I asked.

"Oh but he was," Sherlock insisted. "The colt's glances only got my attention to this spot, but if you examine the body you will see that all five entry wounds come from the side of him that was facing in this same direction."

"There must be at least ten yards between here and there," I said, "Nine of them being the road which is too muddled with hoofprints to see anything."

"The unicorn's body did not fall where it was stabbed," Sherlock said, "If you examine the ground closely, you can see an impression far larger than a hoofprint right...here," he said, making a circle with his hoof inches above the dirt road. I bent lower to examine the area and, to my surprise, there was a faint impression of the side of a pony. And near it the sharper indentations of hooves hitting the dirt at an angle, and some splotches of blood that had been cordoned off by the police.

"The stallion was struck here," Sherlock said, pointing to four hoofprints that were slightly more isolated from the main traffic. "His body was airborne after being hit and landed there," He indicated the spot I had been examining earlier, "Bounced once, rolled for a yard, then slid to his final resting place."

"That seems an awfully strange place to be standing," I commented.

"LeStride! May I have a moment of your time?" Sherlock called. The inspector came over to us a moment later. "I need your opinion as a unicorn." Sherlock said, "First of all, tell me, would you be able to detect an illusion cast by another unicorn?"

"Well, depending on how talented they were," LeStride said, "I mean, I'd bet Twilight Sparkle would be able to fool just about anypony in Equestria. But for the most part yes. Any unicorn could detect the magic of an illusion and counter it quickly, if they wanted to."

"Thank you. Now, if you had just left that shop," Sherlock pointed across the street to a small thrift store, "Were crossing the street, and saw a startling illusion right here," he pointed at the area before the window, "Would you be so kind as to position yourself to negate the illusion?"

"Erhm..." LeStride said with a wary look. Apparently his confidence in Sherlock was great enough that he fulfilled the odd request and walked nearer to us, positioning his body to face the window and lowering his head a bit to aim his horn. Sherlock did not need to point out the obvious; LeStride was standing remarkably close to the prints left by the dead unicorn. Only a few inches difference.

"Astounding," I said.

"Thank you LeStride," Sherlock said, "Now if you could obtain that map for me I would be much obliged.

"So, the Slenderpony sightings have been merely illusions?" I asked, "How can an illusion do _that_ to a pony body?" I was, of course, referring to the lethal penetrations that were upon the deceased unicorn's side.

"Go examine the wounds for yourself," Sherlock said, looking towards an officer who was carrying a map towards us, "Those wounds were not caused by the supposed tentacles of the mythical creature."

Again I was compelled to go and examine the body despite my distaste for death. As a medical pony, though, causes for death were of utmost interest to me. I joined several police officers by the body but did not get too close so as to arouse suspicion. Everyone present had already associated me as Sherlock's assistant and so I was in no mind to get further onto their bad sides.

There were five bloody holes that made themselves apparent on the white stallion's body. One on the shoulder, two vertically aligned along the side of his chest, two more spaced along his torso, and one more just above his cutie mark. The mark itself was an open book with a quill in it, making me believe he was a writer. Truly a shame to lose such a brilliant, creative mind as that of a writer. I focused on the injuries themselves next and what I saw astonished me. The pattern of the blood absorbing into to the unicorn's coat had given the wounds an almost circular appearance at first glance, but as I examined them closer there could be no mistaking the actual type of wounds. They were not wide, conical puncture wounds as I had expected, but instead they were narrow stab wounds inflicted by a knife. Or many knives, in this case.

When I returned to Sherlock he had spread a map of the city out on the road and placed more than two dozen small pebbles upon it. He saw me and ushered me closer. "Here we go Trotson; each stone is a sighting of Slenderpony. Tell me you see the pattern."

I looked at the map carefully but saw three possible patterns. "Well, there are three distinct groupings," I said. Sherlock only nodded, keeping his analytical gaze on me. "They don't appear to be related, so we can conclude that either-"

"Wrong." Sherlock said. "They are all clearly related. Just look at them!" I did, but when I shook my head that I did not see what he wanted me to see he just gave a sigh of irritation. "This cluster is tightly packed around this one block in downtown Trottingham. You're new to the city so you wouldn't know that that is an area that most wouldn't wish to take a stroll through after dark. All of these sightings were after the first two sightings. The original sighting of Slenderpony was here," he tapped one of the stones, "And the majority have happened in these two regions," he gestured at the two clusters who were near each other. "Disregarding these sightings as herd of teenage neerdowells, these two match perfectly as just one group."

"But there is a three block gap-" I began before being cut off mid-sentence.

"That gap contains a series of row houses, effectively making a natural wall," Sherlock said, "Don't you see? These illusions of Slenderpony are to keep other ponies _away_ from an area."

"Away from where?" LeStride asked.

"Here," Sherlock said, tapping a place near the edge of the map. There was nothing there that I could see, but he did have a point; the sightings did form a bit of a semi-circle around the area. An obscure one, but present if Sherlock was correct.

"If the unicorn you say is making the Slenderpony scared everyone in these areas," LeStride said, "Then why did he kill this one?"

"That, inspector, is the mystery." Sherlock said, "If you would be so kind as to join Trotson and I, we can go find whatever is out here," he tapped the map with his hoof again, "And bring him, her, or it to justice.

Once more I was taken against my will with Sherlock. In retrospect, I have to admit that I was in part delighted to go. I do not know what appealed to me about the situation, but something did. Perhaps it was just Sherlock's charisma. It certainly wasn't the forest we were entering; even I, a retired soldier and once a visitor to the Everfree forest, found plenty about it to be frightening.

Thick branches blocked out much of the light from above, and an overcast day only enhanced the gloom. There was a slight fog in the forest as well and the air was heavy and damp. Were it not summer, I think I might have caught a cold walking through such a place.

The path we followed was partially lit by a glow from Inspector LeStride's horn. Sherlock walked on one side of the Inspector and I the other. We had all been quiet since passing the threshold from Trottingham to this shadowy glade and not heard a sound but our own hooves softly patting the ground.

"Shh!" Sherlock suddenly whispered, pausing. LeStride and I stopped as well, looking at the eccentric pony. He was looking off to the left, into the darkness. LeStride turned his head to focus the light to where Sherlock was looking. Standing not five yards away from us, fully illuminated in the light of LeStride's magic, was undoubtedly Slenderpony.

Tall and thin, this creature was clearly of pony shape, but that was where the similarities ended. Its head was as white as paper and it seemed to be wrapped in a black shroud that made it seem to melt into the shadows around it. Four long black tentacles quivered in the air all around the creature as it gazed upon us with its featureless face.

Both myself and LeStride took a half step backwards, away from this frightening apparition. Sherlock shouted "Its just an illusion!" Before galloping towards the creature. Or so it had appeared. He actually jumped through a gap in the tree's off to Slenderpony's right. The white coated monster struck at Sherlock with its tentacles, but much to my surprise the appendages passed through him without affecting him in the slightest.

Sherlock Hooves vanished into the darkness, but his voice was audible. "LeStride! Dispel the illusion!" he commanded. I watched LeStride widen his stance and angle his horn at the creature. The Slenderpony saw this and lashed his tentacles at the Inspector, but as testimony to the pony's courage LeStride did not flinch nor hesitate. A bright blue flash of light momentarily dazzled me, but when I could see again- and once LeStride had illuminated the area with his magic once more- Slenderpony was gone.

The two of us at once dashed for the trees where we had last seen Sherlock. We emerged in a small clearing where dull grey light was filtering down through a gap in the trees. Sherlock was standing by an unconscious unicorn. The mare had a long mane which might have been yellow or gold in the past, but her age had turned it to a sensational silver. Her coat was a grey-hued blue and her cutie mark was a single golden coin and two crossed bones beneath it.

"Inspector," Sherlock said after we had approached, "You have your murderer.

LeStride bound the mare in a cage he conjured and took her away. Sherlock later took the inspector and myself to the end of the path we had been traveling. There was a small shack in terrible condition and within was apparently nothing. Sherlock, however, told us that the mare had been casting the illusions to protect this place for a reason. LeStride and I stayed out of Sherlock's way as he moved about the small one room. Within minutes he found a loose floorboard and had LeStride remove it. Below was a natural cave that was filled with more gold and jewels that I had ever conceived. Sherlock did not care about the vast fortune he had found, however; he wanted to return to the police station and learn just who the mare was and where she had obtained such a a fortune.

I waited in the main lobby of the Trottingham police station while Sherlock and LeStride interrogated the old unicorn. When he returned he told me it was time for us to return to the apartment so that I could finish cleaning it.

"What?" I asked, "But what of the mare?"

"What of her?" Sherlock asked.

"Did you learn nothing?" I asked.

"Of course I did. Would you like to know as well? I hadn't thought you were entirely interested."

"After following you across Trottingham and into the forest, I should say I am quite interested."

"Hmm, interesting," Sherlock said, "Very well. I assure you it is actually quite surprising. The mare's real name is Star Charmer, but her better known alias is Captain Goldenhoof."

"The pirate?" I asked, scarcely believing the claim.

"The very same." He said, "When her ship was sunk thirty years ago she took refuge in Trottingham under her birth name and over the years returned to the wreckage and fished out bits of her treasure at a time. She hoarded it all in that shack while the city was still small and none ventured very far into the forest. As the city grew, however, her hidden shack became more likely to be found. When the first pony was close to seeing it, she used the Slenderpony illusion to frighten them away. Unfortunately the idea backfired on her as many more began to venture into the forest to try and prove or disprove the existence of Slenderpony, so she had to frighten more ponies from various other locations to try and keep attention away from herself."

"Then why did she kill the stallion?" I asked.

"That, she claims, was an accident. When he was about to dispell her illusion and expose her, she used some cutlery from a nearby house- grabbing it magically through an open window into a kitchen- and hid the knives within the tentacles of her illusion. She intended only to give him a few light scratches to scare him off, but the stallion leaped to protect his son who had ventured too close. The sudden change, she says, put his whole body in the way and the utensils did far more harm than she expected. So she retreated into the forest, terrified at what she had done. When we came after her she continued to panic and tried to scare us off as well, but knowing that Slenderpony was an illusion I looked for the caster and spotted her glowing horn through the bushes. I jumped through and wrestled her to the ground, knocking her unconscious to prevent any magical attempts at escaping me until LeStride could bind her."

"You say that she 'claims' it was an accident. Do you doubt it?" I asked.

"No I do not," Sherlock said, "But without sufficient evidence one way or another, there is no conclusion to be held. Assuming a matter to be true or false without proper evidence is a grave mistake, and until I can discern as to whether this was murder or ponyslaughter I will reserve coming to a conclusion. Come now! We can make good time now that you've stopped that infernal limping."

"I what?" I asked, looking at my own leg. It had not occurred to me until then that, since arriving at the crime scene some hours earlier, it had ceased to pain me.

"You haven't limped since you examined the poor stallion's body," Sherlock said, "I told you it was in your head when we first met. You just need adequate distraction. And I know just what will distract you; finishing cleaning the apartment!"

_I'd like to apologize for the brevity of the actual case and its heavily summarized conclusion, but I needed to shrink it down to keep this first story from growing too long. Also, with the abundance of Slenderpony fics out there, I didn't think I needed to strive too hard to be unique as that would be a lost cause. Future stories shall come, however. Look forward to more Sherlock and Trotson, and I promise future plots (with less introduction fortunately) will be more elaborate._


End file.
